#andreil microfic

[moonysentropia]

Andrew didn't know it, but he was the clingy type of sleeper.

He would go to sleep with his back against the wall, curled up and ready to throw a punch if it was needed. There would always be some distance between him and Neil, which the second boy didn't mind. He would still get some passionate, hot kisses before going to sleep.

However, the moment Andrew fell asleep, his body would move on its own. He would roll until he was on top of Neil's, their hearts beating against each other. His hands would slide between the sheets, not stopping until finding Neil's warm arm and holding onto it. His face would hide on the little nest between Neil's jawline and shoulder, two pieces of a puzzle perfectly fitting together.

Neil would remain still. Even if his legs fell asleep, even if his back started hurting. He would just close his eyes, sink into the tingling feeling inside his chest, breath in the smell that would make him giddy and sleepy at the same time. The scent of home.

Neil would fall asleep, eventually, but he would also be the one to always wake up first. He would feel Andrew slowly stirring, and then freeze when he realised his position. He would let Andrew get away from him, turn around and, only when there was good, familiar distance between them, would he stretch out and get out of bed.

Neil would never tell Andrew that he knew. Andrew would probably never acknowledge it neither. As everything between them, they would just let it happen, worrying about the panic later.

For now, they had time.

[ohalleyrose]

change · @taylorswiftmicrofic · andreil · wc: 770

“Choose,” Andrew ordered as soon as Neil walked through the door, pointing to the television with his chin. “This one?” The Bourne Identity flashed on the screen. “Or this one?” The screen changed to Dune.

Neil arched his eyebrows as he set his backpack down on the nearest pouf.

“You’re suggesting watching a movie about a guy who spends his whole life on the run.”

Andrew gave him a bored look.

“Are you deaf? I gave you two options.” He didn’t wait for Neil to answer, but put on Dune instead. “You’ve got ice-cream in the freezer.”

“From Sweetie’s?” Andrew nodded. “Did you go to Columbia just to buy me ice-cream?”

“Buy us ice-cream,” he corrected.

“Didn't you say yesterday you were getting tired of always going there?”

The annoyance in Andrew’s face was priceless.

“Ninety-five percent.”

Neil walked over to the freezer and took out the ice-cream tub inside.

“You know,” he said as he approached Andrew on the sofa, “you’re quite thoughtful for a person who claims to hate my guts.”

Andrew wrapped both arms around his waist and Neil looked down at him. His expression was still as inscrutable as ever, but Neil was used to it by now.

“Are you trying to push the limits on my hate scale?”

Neil shrugged. “I don’t know, am I?”

Andrew pressed his fingertips firmly on his hips.

“Ninety-nine.”

The hint of a faint smile flickered across Neil’s face.

“Almost there.”

He tried to move, so Andrew released him from his grip. He sat next to Andrew on the sofa, leaving enough space between their bodies to ensure Andrew felt at ease, and opened the ice-cream tub while Andrew hit play. He let out a delighted sigh as he leaned against the backrest. Other than the night’s training with Kevin, he hadn’t done any physical exertion so far that day, but the three exams he’d taken in a row had made him as tired as if he’d played in an exy match. If he fell asleep, he would be in trouble, for Andrew would get cranky when he dozed off watching a movie together. That’s when he realised he was stupid. He should have picked The Bourne Identity —all the chasing and shooting would have helped him stay awake. However, Andrew’s attention was already fixed on Dune and he didn’t want to disturb his peace. He would have to find another way to distract himself.

He didn’t register he had been watching Andrew for a while until he caught his eye.

“Don’t stare.”

Neil didn’t move an inch.

“I’m not.”

Andrew grabbed his chin and stared at him for a few seconds, the only sounds in the room coming from the television and the fridge. He then forced Neil to turn his face to look at the screen.

“Watch the fucking movie.”

“The exams fried my brain,” Neil admitted, “I’m sorry.”

Andrew let go of his chin and paused the movie. Neil guessed he would be upset, yet no trace of irritation was on his face when he closed the distance between them on the couch and faced him again.

Neil tilted his head in curiosity.

“What?”

“How did the exams go?”

Neil repressed the urge to scream and kiss him.

“I’m not sure I’ll pass Maths.”

Andrew lifted his hand to his curls and he instantly leaned into his palm, touch-starved as he always was when it came to Andrew.

“You will.”

Neil chuckled softly.

“Okay, I will.” He brushed his lips over Andrew’s hand and he noticed some emotion in his expression. “Yes or no?”

Andrew seemed to be collecting his thoughts before answering. Neil never made any new approach without his permission and Andrew’s response varied depending on the day, but he didn’t care. Andrew needed time and, fortunately, they now had all the time in the world.

“Just one.”

Neil nodded and pressed his lips on Andrew’s skin softly, who stirred on the couch slightly and watched him with the same intensity that had been in his gaze during their previous intimate encounters in the bathroom or the bedroom. There was one difference, though: this time, it was Andrew who was receiving the affection.

“C’mere,” he commanded and Neil rested his head on his shoulder, something he only did when Andrew was willing to share his living space with him. He soon felt a strong arm around his back holding him in place. “Take a nap. I’ll stay here.”

Neil placed his hands on his own lap and closed his eyes. That afternoon he dreamt of Andrew, two cats and a lovely house in the countryside.

[whimsicalginger]

my life was a storm since I was born - andreil - 422 words

Andrew hasn't always been this way. He used to care. He used to care so deeply it hurt. He would split himself open, bare his soul, in the hopes that someone would want him. And then people did want him. But they wanted and wanted and wanted and Andrew was never enough. They took and took and took and eventually Andrew was left with nothing—just an empty shell and a hollow heart. The world took one look at him, young and alone, and threw its very worst at him. Life beat him black and blue, and tried to kick him to the curb.

But Andrew learned how to fight back. He became a monster born from suffering and broken promises and pain. He built up impenetrable walls around himself, too tall to be scaled, too daunting to even try. He blocked out all feeling, content to sit in the safe protection of apathy. He covered the only door in chains, padlocked shut.

And then, Andrew gave someone a key.

Neil came into his life a little over a year ago, just as scarred and messed up as him. He was a puzzle to solve, a cipher to decode. And as Andrew fit more and more pieces into place, he realized he liked the rush it gave him. He liked the dizzying feeling of being trusted with Neil's secrets, being given his past to protect. Very quickly it was no longer a game, but a lifeline. A steady constant in the chaos that is life.

And now, as they sit on the roof of their dorms, a cigarette between Andrew's lips and another in Neil's hand, Andrew feels split open again. Neil just watches him, his bright blue eyes piercing straight through Andrew's carefully crafted armor.

Andrew hates him. He hates his unyielding patience, his quiet understanding, his relentless respect. Most of all he hates him for caring. For wanting Andrew with zero expectations or conditions. For only using the key he was given with express permission.

When Neil looks at him like this—like he never wants to look away, like Andrew is something good—he wants to push Neil away and build his walls even higher. He wants to scream that he's got it all wrong, that he's not good; he never has been and never will be.

Instead, Andrew just looks away, finishes his cigarette, and leaves without so much as glancing back. And if a part of him hates himself for that, what does it matter? Andrew's never liked himself anyways.